


draw down the stars

by KrioLynn, SOMNlARl



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol, Cullen is an ex-Navy SEAL with PTSD now EMT, Cullrian Mini-Bang, Cullrian Mini-Bang 2015, Dorian is the head of the National Library, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Implied abusive past relationships, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Max is the adorable freckled ginger disaster, Modern AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SO MUCH FLUFF, This is diabetes of the soul inducing fluff, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrioLynn/pseuds/KrioLynn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cullen and Max come into his life Dorian discovers that the best families are the ones you create for yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	draw down the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Cullrian Mini-Bang on tumblr. Art by the amazing [ratkingcorvo](http://ratkingcorvo.tumblr.com) who put up with far more of my nonsense than anyone should ever have to. Our prompt was 'family' and would you believe this all started out of a conversation over how good Cullen would look in an EMT's uniform? Special thanks to [tsurai](http://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com) for helping me title this monster and for listening, [thekingofcarrotflower](http://thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com) and [cassandrashipsit](http://cassandrashipsit.tumblr.com) for reading and making suggestions and a whole bunch of people for putting up with my whining. 
> 
> Comments are life. 
> 
> You can find me [here](http://xhermionedanger.tumblr.com). I'm always accepting prompts and random yelling about Cullrian.

**I.**  

 _No, no, no. That simply won’t do at all._  Dorian sighed as he deleted all evidence of his last hour’s worth of work, rubbing at his temples with a hand in an attempt to quell the headache building behind his eyes. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to venture out of his office for a cup of coffee and a walk through the stacks to clear his head if he was ever going to finish this proposal for the board of governors. The cursor blinked mockingly against the blank screen at him and he glared back at it with a scowl.

The door creaked open. Dorian looked up with an annoyed huff to find his assistant peeking hesitantly at him, halfway hidden behind the door.

“Mister Pavus?”

“What  _is_  it, Sorsia?” He snapped, not bothering to smooth the irritation from his voice. “I thought I left perfectly clear instructions that I was not to be disturbed.”

“I know sir. I’m  _sorry_  sir but there’s a woman on the line for you and she wouldn’t take no for an answer,” the girl wrung her hands as she shifted nervously from one foot to the other in the threshold of his office.

He sighed, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose you’d better come in then. Who is this woman? And what does she want that simply can’t wait?”

“A woman from the Department of Health and Family Services, sir. Said it was urgent, said she wasn’t getting off the line until she spoke with you and wouldn’t give me the time of day, sir.” Sorsia twisted the ends of one of her long, dark braids through her fingers nervously until the strands frayed, gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “Sir, I swear I tried telling her that anything she had to say to you she could say to me but she was… very insistent, sir. I’m sorry.”

“That’s... quite alright, Sorsia,” he soothed, carefully arranging his features into what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The poor girl was new after all, it was hardly fair to expect miracles her third week on the job and he supposed she was perfectly competent most of the time. “Never you mind, you did well to tell me. Have the call transferred in here, will you?”

She nodded gratefully and quickly ducked back out of his office, closing the door softly behind her. His phone rang a moment later and he didn’t have a chance to even start a greeting before the woman on the other end started speaking.

“Mister Pavus? Josephine Montilyet, I’m with the Department of Health and Family Services. Head of the Youth Protection Division, I imagine you remember me? Thank you for taking my call.”

Not that she’d given him much of an option he thought pointedly. “Ah yes, Ms. Montilyet. How can I assist you today? Are you looking to run another Big Brother program at the library? We would, of course, be happy to do so, if I recall the last one was quite the success. But I should ring you through to my programs coordinator for that, let me just…”

“No!” Josephine interjected. She took a deep breath, letting out it quickly before continuing. “I’m not calling to set up another program, I’m calling because we have a placement.”

“A placement?”

“Yes, a placement.” The line crackled as she sighed expectantly and was silent a moment. “An emergency placement, for you.”

 **** _A placement?_  What on earth could she possibly mean? Dorian thought back, trying to place her. Her voice was familiar, the lilting Antivan accent rang a bell but…  _kaffas_ , try as he might he simply couldn’t.

“A foster placement.”

“Ah.” Dorian raked a hand through his hair, teasing through thick, dark waves already starting to fall out of place as he sighed. Now he remembered; he’d taken the course and gotten licensed through an organization the library had partnered with last year, thinking it another line on an already impressive CV. He’d been assured by the coordinator that it was extremely unlikely to come up, he wasn’t even close to the top of the list.

“I see… and you said it was an emergency?”

“It’s… yes. It’s absolutely an emergency. Dorian, it  _needs_  to be with you.” Josephine said with a sigh. “His magic manifested. He was with a family before but now… this morning he set their living room on fire. They won’t keep him any longer, they’re insisting he be removed from their home today. He has nowhere else to go and we have no other potential placements willing to accept mages. Please. He needs you.”

Dorian sat still for a moment, his hands trembling as his heart pounded high and fast in his chest. A child, for him. One already abandoned not once but at least twice and a mage, an uncontrolled one at that. He wasn’t prepared for this, he should say no, make up some prior commitment and apologize profusely. He’d only make things worse for the child. But he had promised and as his father had always said, a bitter laugh stirring in his gut,  _a Pavus always keeps their word_.

“Tonight, then? Or do I need to leave work early to meet you? Will you bring him to my home or do I need to meet you at your office?”

“I think… it might be best if we met on neutral grounds. I seem to recall a small restaurant opposite your apartment, shall we say there at 6? We can meet and perhaps you can… gain a better understanding of the boy and his needs.”

Dorian’s normal habit was to work late into the night, especially with a project pending but today he left the moment the clock struck five, locking his office behind him. He gave his leave to Sorsia, cutting off her protests about the letter to the Board of Governors becoming her first official project. “You’re more than capable, I have absolute faith in your abilities,” he called over his shoulder to the sound of her sputtering as he breezed out the front door, the ends of his silk scarf fluttering behind him.

The subway back to his apartment was even more crowded than usual and ended up delayed for track repairs. Finally they arrived at his stop and as he pushed through the milling crowds he swore under his breath. He was absolutely going to be late now but there were a few things he had to pick up before arriving to meet his placement.  _Venhedis_!

**II.**

Dorian swept into Cabot’s, tossing a quick nod to the hostess as he scanned the tables. He found Josephine first, her familiar, dark grey eyes worried until they lit upon him when she softened, chancing a smile. Beside her sat a boy no older than eight or nine, all knobby knees and elbows and overgrown, messy red hair hastily tied back. He scowled as Dorian caught his eye, pursing his lips.

“So you’re the one getting stuck with me this time?” The boy challenged, quick green eyes flashing as he glanced from the suitcase sitting beside Dorian’s feet to his face with an intensity that was almost frightening. No child should be able to summon up that intensity of emotion; his gaze was probing, seeking, searching - far older than he appeared - and Dorian struggled to match his challenging gaze. Turning to Josephine he asked “how long is this one going to last before he gets sick of me too?”

“Well, that rather depends on you, doesn’t it?” Dorian replied. The boy glared ferociously at him and his long ears twitched, sparks of lightning gathering between clenching fingertips just barely peeking out from the sleeves of his oversized, obviously handed-down sweater. Josephine frowned and raised an eyebrow at him; Dorian knew instantly that had been the wrong answer. But what could he have said?  _I’ll never get sick of you? This will be forever?_  No, he had to choose his words carefully, ensure they were selected to comfort and calm without making a promise to the boy that he didn’t know if he could keep.

“Let’s… not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? No sense in thinking about leaving before you’ve even arrived,” he tried again, reaching out to lightly squeeze the boy’s shoulder. He flinched then relaxed under Dorian’s touch, his fists settling by his sides. “I’m sure, if we give ourselves some time to get to know each other everything will be just fine. Right, Josephine?”

He and the boy looked up at Josephine with the same desperate, pleading look. She smiled lightly and nodded, ruffling the boy’s long hair.

“Almost twins, the two of you are. And of course, Dorian, you’re quite correct. You and Halen will get along well as long as...” Josephine said as she tried to disentangle the boy from where he’d retreated behind her skirts.

“That’s  _not_  my name,” the boy yelled and the room went quiet around them at the outburst. A few people sitting at the tables surrounding them stared but a quick glare from Dorian turned them back to their meals and conversation, a few still sneaking sideways looks from across the room.

“That’s the name  _they_  gave me. My parents. The ones who dumped me.” He glared accusingly at Josephine. “The ones who should have been my family forever.”

“Well, even the best of us can make mistakes,” Dorian soothed, reaching out to lay his hand against the back of the boy’s wrist. “So, if not Halen then what do you want me to call you?” Dorian asked, watching the boy as he stepped out from behind Josephine’s legs to the side, still clinging to her skirts as he set his jaw decisively.

The boy stared defiantly at him for a moment before his face fell and he scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. “I don’t know…” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No one’s ever asked me before.”

Dorian hummed as he thought a moment. “Well, naming is a very important thing among my people Halen, so if you’re not happy with yours you should get to choose one that better suits you. Come here, let me look at you.”

The boy inched closer to him step by step, looking back at Josephine between each one. As he finally came into reach Dorian closed the boy’s finger tips between his own and studied his face.

The boy was darker than he was and covered in freckles with big, bright green eyes that clashed with his hair. He was small, barely reaching up to Dorian’s chest but his arms stretched down almost to his knees, hinting at the man he would become. His ears were long, even for an elf and Dorian wondered about his family. Had they rejected him? Had he been one too many mouths to feed in an alienage? Had his parents sensed his magic and sent him away from his clan to avoid the inevitable rejection? And who was he to imagine he could parent any boy, yet alone this one; so quick to offense, rejected by his family,  _damaged_.

He had to try. Perhaps Josephine had been right and this boy needed to be placed with him.  _Who was he if not someone who understood being rejected for something he couldn’t control_ , he thought bitterly.

“I think…” Dorian said as he pulled the boy closer. “I think that you look like a Max. Short for Maximus. It means greatest in my language. Do you like it?”

He felt the same, unwavering, unblinking gaze as the boy studied him until finally he acquiesced to sit on the edge of the booth next to Dorian.

“Max.  _Max_. I think I like it. Max…” the boy whispered softly, as though savoring the feel of the name on his tongue. He looked up at Dorian, grinning cheekily. “Can I have a milkshake? I like strawberry.”

Dorian smiled as he sighed in relief and signalled for the waitress. “Of course. You can have whatever you want tonight.”

 

 **III.**  

Before they left the diner Dorian repacked Max’s few, meagre things into the suitcase and backpack he had brought with him.  _No child of mine is going to carry his possessions in garbage bags, what sort of monsters do you think we Tevinters are, Josephine?_

Max’s eyes had lit at the suggestion that he was being given something that was his and he eagerly tried to help, clumsy fingers folding his clothes and piling them into the suitcase.

“Are these mine, Dorian?” He asked, wide-eyed. “Even if you decide you don’t want me anymore?”

“That’s not going to happen Max. You’re a  _child_ , not something to be thrown away.” Dorian admonished. “But yes, no matter what happens these are yours.”

Even as the words came out Dorian knew that at best they were a half truth and at worst they were a lie. He wasn’t at all sure what he wanted or what would happen with the boy. He had never imagined that he would actually be called upon to care for a foster child. He’d gone through the certification solely to check off yet another box. He’d thought it just another qualification, something he could brag about but not something he would ever actually have to go through. Surely there were families set up to deal with boys such as this one? And he had been discarded, treated as a broken toy one no longer had any use for might be. How could he promise that would never happen again?

But as he looked at Max, caught his quick, probing eyes already primed for rejection, took in the set of his jaw ready to harden to hide disappointment Dorian  _knew_. He couldn’t speak the words aloud but he knew. He wouldn’t be able do anything to hurt the boy.

“Come on, Max,” he said as he stood and hoisted Max’s backpack over his shoulder, his voice thick with swallowed-back tears. “Let’s go home.”

***

“Is this where I live now?” Max asked, eyes wide as he shuffled through the door into Dorian’s apartment, dragging the suitcase behind him. His gaze lit on the walls lined with overstuffed bookshelves in stark contrast to the modern, minimalist furniture, straying to the few paintings scattered across the walls of the hallway into the living room.

“Yes,” Dorian said as he squeezed the boy’s shoulder, smiling at the look of wonder of Max’s face. “This is where you live now. Do you like it?”

Max nodded. “It’s so big…”

“And this,” he said as he took the boy lightly by the elbow and steered him through the living room and into the guest - well, he supposed really it was Max’s now, not that he ever had guests anyway - room, “is your room.”

It wasn’t much; a bed, a dresser, a desk in the corner. It looked almost institutional, Dorian thought as he looked around the room and he wished with a pang of annoyance that he’d had time to have been better prepared. Max’s face fell as he looked over the bare walls.

“I know it doesn’t look like much right now but we’ll go out tomorrow and find you some things you like, alright?” Dorian asked, watching the boy as he walked slowly into the room. “You can make it your own. And it’ll feel better once you’ve had time to unpack.”

“You promise?” Max asked as he sniffed fiercely and threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the stack of pillows.

Dorian sat on the edge of the bed, hesitantly running his fingers through the boy’s hair. “I promise,” he whispered as let his hands trail down to rub the boy’s shoulders, sighing in relief as Max relaxed under his touch.  _Just like I used to_  he realized. Just like he used to when his mother would come into his bedroom to say goodnight, after his father had gone to bed. His father never had liked Aquinea coming to him, comforting him -  _you spoil the boy, it’s your fault he’s soft_  - but she had come just the same to sit with him, singing softly to him until he'd finally drifted to sleep. The soft touch was the same as hers, the motion had come to him without thinking.

“We’ll make it look however you like. But now it’s time for sleep, alright?”

The boy nodded, blinking sleepily as Dorian leaned over to pull the blanket up over his thin shoulders.

“Sleep. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything.” Dorian flicked the light off as he left the room, pulling Max’s door closed softly behind him. Tomorrow, he promised silently as he looked back at the door, they’d get him everything he needed to feel at home.

As Max slept Dorian settled into his armchair and opened the file Josephine had pressed into his hand.

_Name: Halen Aldarion_

_DOB: 02/17/2006_

_Place of Birth: Dairsmuid, Rivain_

_Parents: Samren and Mira Aldarion_

_Surrendered: 05/20/2006_

_Siblings: 2, also surrendered. Unable to be placed together. Current whereabouts are unknown to this agency._

__

**_Prior placements:_ **

 

  * _Ostwick; Nathaniel and Lina Branton - 08/09/2006-11/19/2010._

    * _Reason for Surrender: Change of family financial circumstances_

  * _Denerim; Dennis and Selena Ashwyn - 01/07/2011-03/05/2013_

    * _Reason for Surrender: Irreconcilable conflicts with siblings_

  * _Val Chevin; Charles and Justine Mouret - 07/01/2013-06/26/2015_

    * _Reason for Surrender: Property destruction_

  * _Val Royeaux; Dorian Pavus - 06/26/2015-_




__

_Health Concerns: None_

_Special Needs/Concerns: Recently manifested magic, will require immediate instruction for the safety of himself and the community._

Dorian snapped the file shut and slammed it down onto the side table. Four families.  _Four_. Four within the course of nine short years and his birth parents giving him up at three months old. And for such ridiculous-sounding reasons although he could imagine the horror a non-mage family might feel at their child’s first manifestation, remembering his own with a reluctant smile; his nanny had startled him in the morning and he’d iced the poor woman into a statue and then in his ensuing panic set the parlor alight.

His father had been able to reverse both spells but… his stomach still churned as he thought back on it, the way he’d cried more out of fear of the disappointment in his parents’ eyes -  _the Scion of House Pavus does not cry and he certainly does not make mistakes that draw his father from his bed before dawn_  - than the accidents themselves, bile rising high in his throat as he swallowed heavily. He poured a drink from the bar and took a sip, calming as the liquid warmed him.

He opened the file again with a sigh, skimming the next few pages. Hobbies, family background, likes and dislikes, a letter to him from Josephine with suggestions for “a successful integration” but he found he couldn’t quite focus, suddenly exhausted. It had been a very long day.

 **** _I’ll read the letter tomorrow, after I've had some rest. Everything else, I can learn from the boy himself_  he thought as he slipped into bed, half asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Everything else could wait until morning.

**IV.**

It couldn’t wait.

Dorian woke to the soft dip of the mattress next to him, grumbling as he cracked an eye open. It was still dark, soft moonlight streaming in through the window. It took a moment for his eyes to acclimate to the unfamiliar darkness before he was able to focus on a silhouette, long-eared, perched awkwardly on the edge of his bed.

“Max?” He croaked, softly clearing sleep from his throat and sitting up against the headboard. He stifled a groan as he hit his head hard against the wood. “What time is it? Are you… what’s wrong? What happened?”

Dorian fumbled for his phone in the dark.  _3:17am_.

“I…” Max started, sniffling as he swiped a hand across his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I promise. I’m really sorry. I just… I had a bad dream? And when I woke up I didn’t know where I was and...  there was… It’s in my room and I couldn’t fix it and I’m sorry! Please don’t send me back! Please?”

“Shhhh,” Dorian soothed as he rubbed the boy’s back. “I’m not going to send you back, I promise. Whatever it is, we can set it right. Just relax, take deep breaths. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Max looked up at him, fidgeting in the oversized sweater and sleep pants Dorian had given him to wear to bed, his gaze fearful. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Dorian said even as his mind flitted from one potential disaster to the next and wondered which he would find outside his bedroom. “Let me just go set whatever this is right. You stay here, alright?”

The disaster, when he found it, was a minor one. Just a small fire in the corner of Max’s bedroom, simple enough to confine and barely more than a few sparking embers now. He snuffed it out with a quick frost mote and when he returned to his own bedroom Max was sound asleep, curled around his pillow and mumbling softly in his sleep. Not wanting to disturb him Dorian pulled his blanket up over Max’s shoulders and returned to stretch out in his armchair, eventually drifting back off into a restless, uneasy sleep.

He dreamed of his father and the pride he’d felt, the way his father’s heart had skipped the first time he’d done  real magic intentionally.  _Tears in his eyes, watching as I passed the test. Anything to make him happy. Anything_. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t made his father happy. He’d been a failure.  _Stupid. Disgusting. Worthless._  Who was he to take on this boy? Who was he to hold another’s happiness in the palms of his hands?

When Dorian woke, albeit with a terrible headache, his bed was empty but nothing appeared to be actively on fire. That, he had to admit, was an improvement over a few hours ago. When he wandered into the living room he found Max sitting on the edge of the sofa. As he sat down next to him Max turned away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Are you going to call Miss Josephine?” Max whispered.

“I don’t know why I would?” Dorian chose his words carefully, coming to sit on the edge of the sofa next to the boy without meeting his eyes.

Max was silent for a few moments then let out a soft sob. “I couldn’t… because I… I don’t know how to make it stop. It just keeps happening and… I don’t want to go. Not again. Please?”

“Max… you need to learn to control your magic, that’s true. Things like last night can’t keep happening forever. But no one’s taught you, so how could anyone expect you to know how?” He ruffled a hand through the boy’s hair, cupping his jaw and turning the boy’s face to meet his own.

“Besides,” Dorian chuckled softly. “It was only a small fire, no real harm done although the wall might need a bit of new paint. I did worse for my parents at four. Froze my nursemaid solid then I set the parlor drapes aflame. They were ruined, had to be tossed. Bit of a blessing in disguise really, they were dreadful. The look on my father’s face though...” He grinned conspiratorially, laying an arm across the boy’s shoulders before pulling him into his chest for a hug.  

“Really?” Max asked with a sniffle, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Really,” Dorian replied as brushed his thumb across Max’s cheek, wiping away a last, errant tear. “Now come on, go get dressed and we’ll go get some breakfast, I’m afraid there’s not much in the house except coffee and I don’t know about you but setting fires always makes me hungry.”

They ended up in the same diner they’d met in, tucked into a small corner booth. Dorian ordered coffee and toast, picking half-heartedly at it. Max ate voraciously, finishing off an omelette, a waffle and another strawberry milkshake before he finally declared himself done.

As they walked out the door Max stumbled right into a very large, very familiar chest.

“Hey Dorian, don’t usually see you out this early,” Bull rumbled, pausing to look quizzically down at Max. “Wait. Who’s the kid?”

Max stared up at the Qunari wide-eyed, still and completely silent. Bull chuckled lightly as he watched the elf nearly disappear behind Dorian’s legs with a squeak.

“Never seen a Qunari before, huh?” Bull dropped to his knees with a pained grunt to avoid towering over the boy. Max shook his head quickly, still staring at Bull, tongue-tied.

“He’s my…” Dorian started as he tried to maneuver Max back beside him, stopping suddenly as he sensed Max staring right at him, waiting for his answer.

“Well, never you mind what he is. Bull, this is Max. He’ll be staying with me… for a while. Max, this is Bull. He lives two doors down from us so you’ll see him around the building”

“Oh yeah, I’m always around.” Bull replied as he stood and clapped Dorian on the back. “You need anything, you come to me. I’m in 15B. And hey, Dorian? If you’re ever looking for a babysitter you know where to find me.”

Dorian smiled gratefully at Bull as he ushered Max past him and onto the sidewalk, out of the way of the doors. “I’ll definitely remember that. But only if you promise not to teach him how to fight. The boy’s already a mage, at least give me a fighting chance.”

Once out of potential earshot Dorian chanced a look back at Max who was lagging behind, sneaking a look back towards the diner. “I promise, he’s really not that frightening once you…”

“ _He’s so cool_.”

***

They spent the rest of the day shopping and in stark contrast to the quiet, withdrawn boy of yesterday Max never stopped talking. By the end of it Dorian was exhausted but he knew Max’s favorite color (green although it barely won the battle against red), his favorite hobbies (reading - which made Dorian’s heart sing, at least that was one thing he could share with the boy - action movies, being outdoors but especially hiking, his last “father” had taken him once before he’d been moved and oh, but the boy’s face lit up remembering it and Dorian’s heart sank just thinking of having to get acquainted with nature and drawing) and what he wanted to be when he grew up (a superhero or maybe an artist).

Max talked about his families, or rather, he talked about his birth family and how they’d loved him; it broke Dorian’s heart to know that there was no way Max’s memories could be real, he’d been just an infant when they’d given him up. He refused to talk about his other foster families, growing sullen and quiet at Dorian’s probing until he turned the conversation back to movies. Not that Dorian had seen any recently but Max’s eyes lit up as he talked about his favorites and Dorian was content to listen. He told Max about his job, as much about Tevinter as he could manage while keeping the subject light and more than he had even realized he knew about magic including some of his more dramatic mishaps as a boy.

The more Max talked the more Dorian realized how much trouble he was in. The boy was quick, curious, too eager to take in everything. He flitted easily from one subject to the next, making the transition before Dorian had fully caught up. Too smart for his own good, he was and compassionate at that, too kind. Everything Dorian had wanted in a potential child when he’d still believed family was a possibility for him and everything he’d ever wanted his parents to recognize in him.

It was too late for that, for him. But perhaps it wasn’t too late for Max.

They stumbled back into the apartment, both of them heavily laden with Max’s newfound gains; an  _Avengers_  bedding set, a new wardrobe (though they’d argued the whole time in the store, Max preferring simple, inexpensive jeans and t-shirts and Dorian pushing for more stylish outfits, not wanting his child to be embarrassed; they’d compromised on a wardrobe of a few classic pieces interspersed with graphic t-shirts and nice jeans to suit Max, topped with expensive jackets and shoes to satisfy Dorian), so many books they were sure to overflow the shelves in Max’s bedroom and a promise to go out next weekend to pick up everything they weren’t able to carry today.

Dorian couldn’t remember ever being so tired in his entire life. This having-a-foster-son-thing was going to kill him, he thought with a groan. He collapsed on the couch before even kicking off his shoes, the shopping bags scattered haphazardly on the floor of the living room. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushion and drifted off to the sound of Max rearranging things in his room.

***

“Dorian,” Max whispered as he set two plates down on the coffee table and kneeled down on the floor. The man was still asleep on the couch and snoring lightly, his mustache askew. Max touched his shoulder lightly, shaking him awake.

“Whassat?” Dorian mumbled as he turned and pulled his face out of the throw pillow he’d apparently been drooling on, blinking quickly as he looked at the time. Nearly 10pm, fuck he’d slept too long. “Max?”

“I was hungry… so I cooked. Don’t be mad? I know I should have waited...” He scooted a few feet away from the couch, drawing his knees into his chest. “But I made some for you too?”

“You…” Dorian said, shaking his head in confusion as if to clear it. “ _You_  made  _me_  dinner?”

“I’m sorry…” Max said, ready for the expected swell of rage. It didn’t come. “I  _know_  I shouldn’t have without permission but…”

“No. Max, it’s fine. It’s… more than fine, in fact. I just didn’t know you could cook.” Dorian sat up and smiled with a yawn, patting the couch next to him. “But you are right about one thing.  _You_  shouldn’t be making  _me_  dinner. That’s my job and I suppose… well, I suppose I’m rather dreadful at this.”

 **** _You aren’t_ , Max thought as he crawled across the floor to sit on the couch beside Dorian. The man leaned over and grabbed the plates of scrambled eggs and toast, handing one to him.

“I promise,” Dorian said before he took a bite. It was good, simple but good and he wondered where Max had learned how to cook. “I’m afraid this is all very new to me but I will get better at this. At being… well, at taking care of you. Although I’m very happy to let you do more cooking if you like, it’s never really been my strength.”

Max stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching Dorian as he ate. When the man’s mood seemed unlikely to change from pleased and tired to angry he turned to his own plate, eating so quickly he nearly choked. As Dorian drifted off to sleep again Max put his plate down, leaving both it piled on top of Dorian’s on the floor, and climbed up onto the couch, curling into Dorian’s chest.

Maybe.

 ****_Maybe._

_Maybe this time things would work out. Maybe he wouldn’t ruin everything this time. Maybe Dorian would want him to stay forever._

**V.**

The first few weeks passed quickly, if a bit tumultuously. Although normally good-natured, Max had periods of restless insecurity where he’d challenge Dorian and tell him to call Josephine to have him taken away if the man showed even a hint of annoyance with him. Josephine's emails became his salvation, reminding him that this was normal and to ignore it, if he didn't respond it should pass soon enough. Very quickly Dorian mastered a blank expression, if only to save his own sanity but also because Josephine was right, his lack of reaction did calm Max and day by day his angry outbursts and flashes of temper cooled.

Dorian brought Max into the library with him for the first month, letting the boy bring piles of books into his office to read while he worked. Sorsia popped in and out of his office more often than normal, bringing Max cups of hot cocoa from her private supply to drink while they whispered and Max giggled in awe at the flocks of multicolored birds she summoned out of thin air for him.

Dorian loved to see him so happy, starting to open up but he had to admit that Max’s presence at there's library was getting more than a bit distracting and he was rapidly falling behind on every outstanding project at work.

The next week, given that there had been no new incidents of Max’s magic spiralling out of control, Dorian left him home on his own with strict instructions not to leave the building and a new cell phone with his, Sorsia’s and Bull’s numbers if anything happened, leaving Bull a note begging him to check in on Max periodically even if he didn’t hear any suspicious noises.

Max was well-behaved enough, he reasoned, even if he was probably a bit too young to be left alone. It was a temporary solution, Dorian told himself and he knew he could rely on Bull in an emergency. They hadn’t been friends long, Bull had only moved in a few months before being newly arrived from Par Vollen, but he’d grown to like the Qunari despite all of their differences. In a few short months Max would be off at school all day, leaving just a few short hours on his own before Dorian would be home. For now, it was the best he could think to do.

Bull on the other hand, apparently disagreed because as soon as Dorian left on Monday Bull let himself in with the spare key, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a blonde elf trailing behind him clutching a box of cupcakes.

“Hey kiddo,” he called out cheerfully, looking around for Max.

There was an answering clatter of quick footsteps before Max burst out of his bedroom, hair untied and streaming behind him, a wild grin on his face.

“How you doing your first day on your own?” Bull asked, setting the bag on the floor with a grunt and a loud  _thunk_.

“Okay, I guess,” Max shrugged as he sat on the couch, curling up against the arm. “It’s kind of boring here.”

“I figured. Surprised there’s anything for you to do at all around here. Dorian’s a good guy but he never really struck me as much of a kid person.”

“Yeah,” Max trailed off, fidgeting as he looked away from Bull and out the window.

“Oh, so by the way this is Sera. She and her girlfriend Tally live upstairs, figured you should know someone else in the building just in case.”

Max waved. Sera mumbled what might have been a greeting through a mouthful of cupcake, crumbs falling onto her ripped tank top which she brushed off and onto the floor. She tossed another to Max who barely managed to catch it, nearly dropping it on the floor, and took a bite, grinning as rich chocolate hit his tongue.

“There, that’ll get Mister Prissy all riled up,” she said with a snicker as a few crumbs tumbled onto the carpet. “Oi, Max? You like pranks? I got a good one you could play on your da.”

“Dorian’s not my dad,” Max said decisively, glaring at Sera.

Sera wrinkled her nose and frowned. “Close enough, yeah? But listen, what you want to do is switch every switch every tenth book with a new one. It’ll be just enough to drive him batty but not enough to make it obvious it’s a prank.”

“Alright, don’t give the kid any ideas now. Besides, it’s Mario Kart time. Who do you want to be, Max? You can be anyone except Peach, Sera’s territorial.”

Max took the offered controller. “Ummm, I’ll be Toadstool I guess.”

***

When Dorian got home that night bearing takeout pizza Max, Bull and Sera were sprawled across the floor in a pile, alternately shrieking with laughter and yelling at the television.

He sniffed disdainfully. “Video games, Bull? Really?”

“Ahhhhh, come on,” Bull growled as a shell took out his go-kart. “Lighten up a little, Dorian. The kid can’t do nothing but read  _all_  the time.”

“Excuse me but he most certainly can. I did when I was a boy.” Dorian shrugged off his coat and hung it in the hall closet.

“Right,” Sera sniggered as she tapped at her phone. “And look how you turned out.”

“Oi!” She squawked as Bull smacked her lightly across the back of the head.

Dorian sighed. “Yes, you’re quite right Sera, as always. Just look how I turned out. Head of the National Library and all that, absolutely dreadful. Are you two staying for dinner?”

“Not me, but thanks,” Bull said as he packed the controllers back into his bag and got to his feet, pausing halfway out the door. “Got a date. Krem set me up with one of the girls in his krav maga class. Should be a fun time, if you know what I mean.”

“I do not and no Bull, that is absolutely  _not_  an invitation to share the certainly sordid details especially around the boy. Sera?”

“Can’t, Tally’s waiting on me. I’ll see you around, yeah? And Max - remember, it’s one out of every ten.”

Dorian sighed. He definitely did  _not_  want to know what she meant by that.

**VI.**

Day two of Max staying home while Dorian worked went significantly less smoothly.

At 10:30, in the middle of a meeting with his program coordinators, his phone rang. He glanced down at it in irritation.  _Bull_. Raising a finger to excuse himself, he stepped out of the room and answered, his hands shaking.

“Bull? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Hey, easy there Dorian. Before you freak the fuck out, it's not that bad.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_! I am not an idiot, Bull. The last time you called me at work was when there was that break-in and the police had the neighborhood cordoned off. Tell me what happened before I set you on fire.”

Bull sighed. “It’s Max… he and Sera were playing outside, he sort of tripped while they were running around and fell on his hand. Doesn’t look too bad and it doesn’t seem to hurt much right now, kid’s more shook up than anything but I think it might be broken. You have a doctor you want me to drive him to?”

He didn’t. He hadn’t even thought to look for one and that was yet another reminder that he had no idea what he was doing.  _Fuck_  he was a failure, what kind of parent didn’t know how to handle something this basic? And now Max was hurt -  _damn Sera_! - and he was here and what should he do?

The only thing he could think to do was to throw a quick blast of frost at a waiting book cart, calming as metal and paper alike iced over.

“Dorian,” Bull’s low voice cut through his racing thoughts. “You still with me, big guy? Take a deep breath, that’s it.”

Dorian obeyed or rather, he tried to; his breathing slowed but his thoughts didn’t, not able to get the image of Max falling, crying on the ground, bone sticking out at the wrong angle and blood everywhere out of his head.

“Good, that’s good,” Bull soothed. “Now like I said, it doesn’t look too bad so if you don’t have a doctor he probably needs to go to the ER and get it casted. I’d have Stitches come by and take a look but he’s still at work at the clinic and he’s… really not that great with kids.”

Dorian snorted, laughing despite himself having suffered through Stitches’ ministrations last winter when he’d caught a particularly dreadful cold that had lingered for weeks. Bull had finally tired of his stubbornness and hearing his coughing from two doors down and called in Stitches. A weeks worth of forced bedrest, vile-smelling chest rubs and dreadful-tasting syrups had finally set him right but he hardly had good memories of the man. Stitches might be skilled but his bedside manner was absolutely atrocious.

“Alright, he’s not great with adults either but he  _is_  a good nurse,” Bull rumbled, annoyed.

“Can you leave? I’ll drive if you don’t feel up to it.” Bull asked.

Dorian took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “I can leave, let me just… give me five minutes and I’ll be on my way.”

He only took two, yelling for Sorsia to cover his remaining meetings. He’d explain later; she’d understand, she liked Max.

Five minutes saw him back on the subway, wishing he’d driven to work but the ride went quickly and fifteen minutes after he’d run out of the library he was back out on the street, walking quickly while on the phone with a remarkably unsympathetic 911 dispatcher.

***

“What kind of idiot calls 911 for a broken arm? Kid’s still breathing, just put him in the back of the car and be done with it,” Rylen grumbled as they turned into the entrance to the apartment complex. “This is as bad as being called out to rescue a kitten from a tree. Does anyone still call to get kittens out of trees? That’ll probably be next.”

Cullen shrugged as he huffed a small laugh. “Right, I’m sure you’d much rather have to deal with the aftermath of a shooting. Or another series of overdoses. Personally I’d take an easy call like this one any day.”

Cullen stared out the window. He didn’t find himself on this side of Val Royeaux often and he swallowed a pang of jealousy towards whoever lived in these soaring buildings with their airy floor-to-ceiling windows and large balconies. Compared to these his small apartment - neat and clean as it was - seemed positively tiny and uninhabitable. He’d never even thought to look on this side of town after he’d been discharged but imagining the space, the smell of mature pines and the wildflowers growing in the windowboxes wafting in through the kitchen window made him wish he had.

Rylen grunted, jerking him out of his daydream. “Suppose you’re right, Rutherford. I don’t really fancy another week like the last one.”

“Hey, pull over here” Cullen said as he watched out the window, elbowing Rylen’s arm. “Think that’s probably them. Mostly calm kid, frantically pacing adult. That’s got to be our call.”

The Qunari sitting on the ground next to the boy was more than a bit of a surprise. Even Cullen had to admit that he was an unexpected element. There weren’t many Qunari running around Orlais although Cullen thought he’d seen more than his fair share back in Seheron. Thankfully, this wasn’t Seheron and this Qunari looked more soft touch than fighter given the way he had the child tucked into his chest.

As the van slowed down Cullen pulled the back doors open and jumped out, kneeling on the ground next to the boy who was cradling his left wrist in his lap. He couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9, with all the awkward lankiness that suggested he still had a few years before he’d spring up, the last soft swells of baby fat still lingering on his cheeks.

He looked up at Cullen, cocking his head to the side as he studied his face.

“What’s your name?” Cullen asked as he took the boy’s wrist, softly pressing his thumbs against his skin as he worked his way down the boy’s arm to his palm. He was relieved when he didn’t wince under his touch. He looked down at the boy’s wrist critically; it didn’t look like too bad - no blood - but all sorts of nasty surprises could be hidden underneath and it was definitely broken, not sprained.

“I’m Ha… I mean Max. My name’s Max”

“Well, Max. I’m Cullen. Can you move your thumb for me? Just in a small circle?”

Max did slowly, whimpering slightly at the end. “Hurts a little…”

“I know, but it’s good that you can move it,” Cullen said brightly, trying to encourage him. “That’s very good, now your fingers?”

Another success, Max could move them almost unrestricted. He’d be fine once the break was casted but Cullen really needed to speak to the boy’s parents and he had no idea who to approach. He looked over at the Qunari questioningly and he raised his eye back at him.

“I take it you’re not Max’s father.”

The Qunari chuckled and ruffled Max’s hair. “Nah, not me. Just a friend, huh Max?”

Max nodded, grinning up at the Qunari.

He turned a surprisingly sharp gaze towards Cullen, studying his face intently. Cullen could feel his face flushing and and turned his attention back to Max’s arm. “I’m The Iron Bull, by the way.”

“Bull, good to meet you,’ Cullen muttered through gritted teeth as he nodded.

He looked around again until his gaze lit on a young, blonde elf nearly hidden behind Bull. They looked nothing alike but perhaps the boy mostly took after his father.

“Are you… the mother?” On second glance she looked young, far too young to be the boy’s mother and as she glowered at him he felt ridiculous for even asking.

“Psssh, no. What, just because we’re both elves? Riiight, all elves stick together yeah, that’s what people like you think. You want that one.” She scowled and gestured away from the group to a man standing under a tree, his back to them. Even from a distance Cullen could see he was shaking. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Anxious parents were the worst part of these calls. He gestured to Rylen to take over with the boy and continue the assessment and walked over towards the man.

“Max is going to be fine,” Cullen said. The man whirled around to face him, a shimmering barrier of light slamming into place around him as he clutched at Cullen’s arm. Cullen stifled a hiss of pain and pulled out of the man’s grip, taking a quick step back to avoid getting thrown backwards by the barrier. He hadn’t known many mages although there had been a few in his unit, and he knew enough not to get between a mage and their magic, especially one as highly-skilled as this one.

“Hey, I need you to relax okay? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help Max. Are you his father?”

The man laughed bitterly as he turned to meet Cullen’s eyes. Cullen couldn’t help but stare. Maker but he was attractive; he wore a crisp, expertly tailored black suit that skimmed the long, lean lines of his body, contrasting with the golden rings and small studs dotting his ears. He had skin the dark, rich tones of fine whiskey, bright grey eyes, a perfectly curled mustache and dark waves of hair clearly once groomed to perfection but now fallen messily across his brow and…  _Maker stop, stop, stop it Rutherford. Stop thinking like this he’s a parent for fuck’s sake, you’re just here for the kid not to make eyes at the father like a mooning schoolboy_.  

“Not his father, no. Or rather… no. I suppose not. But his legal guardian, yes.” The man’s eyes softened as he exhaled a shaky breath, leaning back against the tree shading them. “Dorian Pavus. And you said he would be fine?”

“It looks like a simple break. He’s in a bit of pain but nothing too bad, getting it casted should help with that,” Cullen replied as he forced himself to look anywhere except at Dorian. The man looked touchy enough even without provocation, the last thing he needed was another formal complaint on his record if the man caught him staring again.

“Shouldn’t need more than a few weeks in the cast, he’s young and should heal well. But he probably should have an x-ray first just to make sure that nothing’s really wrong and we can’t do that here.”

“I suppose we should get on with it then.” Dorian gave him a small smile and Cullen didn’t think he was imagining the way Dorian’s eyes swept down his body and then back up again or the way his smile turned pleased. Not imagining no, but dreaming definitely. Yes, that was it. He had to be dreaming.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Umm.” He blushed. Really. _Really, Rutherford_?  Sometimes he swore he didn’t know why he even bothered getting out of bed in the morning.

“That’s a very odd name,” Cullen’s blush deepened as Dorian teased. He smiled again and Cullen thought he could immediately go blind, never see another sight for the rest of his life and still manage to die happy.

“Cullen. My name’s Cullen. Just Cullen. Cullen Rutherford.”

God. Rambling again. Could he possibly get through one sentence in front of Dorian without stuttering and babbling like an idiot? He was suddenly grateful that Rylen was still tending to Max. He was sure he was red as a beet and thought he might just punch anyone who mentioned it.

This all had to be one  _very_  weird dream. As was the business card tucked into the palm of his hand as Dorian and the Qunari he now knew to be called Bull stepped out of the ambulance, Max tucked into Dorian’s chest, his arms wrapped around Dorian’s neck. Cullen was  _definitely_  still dreaming when Dorian looked back at him before the doors closed, caught his glance and smiled with a small wave.  Men like Dorian didn’t simply hand over their numbers with the suggestion of coffee, not to men like him.

**VII.**

Cullen didn’t call.

The card stayed forgotten in his pocket when he arrived back at his apartment. It fluttered to the floor as he stripped off his uniform and he leaned over to pick it up, wincing as his back protested.

_Dorian Pavus, MLS, PhD_

_National Library - Director_

He turned the heavy, engraved cardstock over between calloused fingers and there it was, a phone number scrawled on the back in a hasty but still elegant hand.

Cullen looked at his phone then back at the card. Even as he typed in the number he knew he’d never call it. He didn’t know what this  _Dr. Pavus_  was playing at but the whole idea was insane. They probably didn’t  have enough in common to keep a conversation going over the length of a cup of coffee. Even worse, Cullen thought grumpily as he cracked open a beer, Dorian looked like the type of man that would order a dry cappuccino and actually know what the hell that meant.

Besides, if he was honest he knew that Sam had been right. Seheron  _had_  changed him, destroyed him. Seheron had taken everything good inside of him and corrupted it, twisting it into a brutal mockery of everything he’d ever been.

Something inside of him had died that day his unit had been captured by the rebels; that day he was  bound and thrown into the dark, cramped cell that he sometimes suspected he’d never truly escaped from. Something had died again each time the fog warriors had dragged a body before him, forcing his eyes open to look at the bruised, bloated faces - now unrecognizable - that had been his squadmates.

The fog warriors’ raucous laughter, pained screams in the distance, his gasping and begging for mercy or death - he’d stopped caring weeks ago - and his own heartbeat pounding fast and so high in his throat he could choke on it echoed around him as the walls closed in, sucking the breath out of his lungs like a vise.

 ****_This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not to him. He’s only watching as the man - the boy - stumbles out of his cell, pitches face first onto the ground. Watching from above as blood streams from his mouth, as he chokes on it, spits it onto the ground and sways, desperate to keep himself aright. It’s not him. Not him. Never him. Some other poor bastard that the rebel leader punches across the face and kicks in the stomach after he collapses on the ground, curling in on himself to avoid the blows. He doesn’t cough up blood, fresh and red, when the last of the fog warriors spits on him and leaves his cell without a second look. Not him the next morning waking to the cold press of a blade against his throat, the burning heat of it as it bit into his skin. Not him with a mouthful of blood, fingers sticky with it as he pressed the gash through his lips together, willing the skin to knit._

_It wasn’t him. Not him. Anyone other than him. It. Wasn’t. Him. Nothimnothimnothimnothimnothim please Maker just not him._

_It was._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_GODDAMNIT RUTHERFORD fucking breathe remember what the doctors said,  remember what they told you. It’s not real. It’s not happening. It’s not fucking real just breathe._

_Breathe._

The empty bottle broke against the wall with a loud crash but it was the sudden clicking of Gracie’s nails against the floorboards and her soft, insistent whine that brought him back to reality. He didn’t remember throwing it and he suspected that should worry him more than it did.

“Fuck,” he whispered, letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, fingers fisting tightly through his hair until his scalp burned.

Gracie whined again, butting her nose against his hands as she let out of small  _whuff_.

“Hey…” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m sorry girl, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

And there it was, exactly why he shouldn’t call Dorian. How could he expect anyone to pick up the pieces that shattered inside him every night and piece him back together come morning? Even Sam had left, had declared him ‘ _a fucking waste of space, absolutely goddamned useless_ ’ and who was Cullen to say he had been wrong?

He hadn’t been wrong.  _Useless. Can’t even keep a damned dog happy let alone a lover_ , he thought as Gracie let out a short, soft howl, leaning heavily against his legs.

His watch beeped, interrupting his train of thought.  _Time for your pills. You’ll never be anything but a fucking addict_  he thought with a flash of rage. He shouldn’t need them, shouldn’t  _still_  be reliant on them no matter what the doctors said but tonight he just wanted to sleep, uninterrupted by dreams so he poured out his handful of rainbow salvation and swallowed them down with the first pull of a fresh beer. It had been two years; it should have been over by now. 

In the bathroom he stared at his reflection; pale skin pulled tight across cheekbones, red-rimmed eyes, his hair - the disheveled curls he’d always hated - falling across his forehead and always that scar, an ever-present reminder of everything he wanted,  _needed_  to forget. He splashed a handful of cold water across his face and frowned. It had to be a joke. No one who looked like Dorian would ever deign to look at him.

If Sam - with all of his faults and failings, his streak of selfish cruelty and the drugs that had forced them apart, who had known him as no one else ever had - couldn’t find it in his heart to stay then no one else would.

He swept up the broken glass and called Gracie over to him, clipping on her leash as he led her out the door. A bit of fresh air, that’s what he needed. He’d take her to the dog park, let her run and play while he watched the stars. That would set both of them right.

He wondered absentmindedly if Max liked dogs. Perhaps he would call, just to see how the boy was doing. Professional interest might dictate it, after all. 

Perhaps.

***

“I absolutely hate hospitals,” Dorian grumbled as he opened the front door. Bull laughed behind him, ducking as he walked through the threshold. He had Max slung over his shoulder, the boy was sound asleep and muttering something Dorian swore sounded just like ‘jelly rainboots’ against Bull’s back.

“Don’t think anyone likes them, big guy. You want me to put the kid to bed?”

“Yes, please Bull. If you would. I’ll be in in a moment.”

Dorian leaned against the kitchen counter, pausing to stare out the window before turning to fill a glass of water from the sink. He was  _still_  shaky from this afternoon. What was wrong with him? Max was fine, the doctors had assured him.  _Cullen_  had assured him. Surely that should make a difference?

It didn’t; he felt a complete wreck, utterly spent. If only he hadn’t been at work, if only he’d thought to have a proper babysitter.  _If only bloody Sera hadn’t thought it was appropriate to race around like a maniac with the boy_ … no. It wasn’t fair to blame her, she was barely more than a child herself and tomorrow he’d need to apologize for snapping at her. If anyone was to blame, it was him.

He poured a glass of wine nearly to the brim and took a sip, padding softly down the hallway to Max’s bedroom. He walked in to find Max tucked into his bed, the Bull sitting on the floor beside him humming something soothing, a song that was almost familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Something from Par Vollen perhaps, he thought with a pang of guilt, suddenly realizing that he’d never thought to ask Bull about his home. 

He set his glass down on the desk and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Max even as he leaned over to brush a few errant strands of sweaty hair back over his forehead.

“Bull…” he whispered, waiting for the Qunari’s answering hum before continuing. “This is all my fault. Max… he… he could have been really hurt. ” He stopped short, swallowing back a sob rising in the back of his throat.

“Yeah, he could have. But he wasn’t. This was nothing, Dorian. Kids get hurt, you’ve got to accept that.” Bull stood and walked out the door, pausing in the hallway. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to send him back to the agency in one piece.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , Bull!” Dorian hissed as he jumped off the bed and stormed towards the Qunari. “Max isn’t something to be returned when I’m done with him. He’s here to stay. He is my s…”

Dorian stopped himself and turned away, surprised at the sudden upwell of tears he hastily blinked back. He grabbed the wineglass, draining half in a single mouthful.

“Good on you, Dorian,” Bull rumbled and Dorian winced at the sudden, rough clap of a hand on his back. “I was wondering when you’d figure that out. But good on you, big guy. Max’ll be happy.”

When Dorian turned around Bull was gone, slipped silently away into the night. He never had worked out how a man as large and awkward-looking as Bull could be so quiet when he wanted to be.

Dorian looked back down at Max, still asleep with his face buried in the pillow and his long ears twitching, his casted arm splayed above his head.

 ****_His son._

Strange how it took a catastrophe to bring people together. The whole afternoon in the emergency room he’d felt closer to Max than he had since the boy arrived, listening to him talk. The boy was an excellent observer of people, making up stories for everyone they saw in the hospital but always going back to Cullen.

Dorian didn’t know what about the man fascinated Max so. Maybe it was his job, he imagined being an EMT would seem exciting to Max. Or perhaps it was simple; he’d been kind to the boy and that might be all it took. Max hadn’t been shown much kindness in his life, it would make sense that he might be fascinated by anyone who showed him even a shred of it.

Dorian couldn’t deny that the man had been handsome albeit it in a predictably southern fashion with his mess of golden curls, well-muscled physique and pale, quick-to-flush complexion. He would admit to a certain curiosity over the peeks of ink under his sleeves and on his calves, wondering absentmindedly if the ones he’d seen were all the man had. There’d been a tribal design on one arm that looked as though it might have been a stylized eye, three black lines of decreasing thickness beneath it and names on the other.  _Rosalie. Mia. Branson_. And Dorian wondered about the last, the striking golden lotus with its stem warped into twisting, black tendrils tangled around his leg; a thing of beauty and hope corrupted by darkness.

Distantly he wondered who the names belonged to, ex-lovers or family. No matter, names promised across skin never spoke to anything good.

Maker only knew what had possessed him to hand over his card. Certainly not his soft, amber eyes or the gentleness he’d shown with Max. Not the gentle, slow cadence of Cullen’s light Fereldan accent as he’d spoken softly to him, calming him nor the swell of well-muscled forearms beneath his tailored uniform. And it definitely wasn’t his lips; chapped but still soft-looking, a deep, angry-looking scar running through them. Lips that more often than not seemed to tease into a grin.

Perhaps he’d call, Dorian hoped as he eased into bed, the wine pleasantly gone to his head.

**VIII.**

Max came to work with him for the next few days before Dorian was able to secure a promise from Bull and Sera that they would stay in the building - he didn’t even care how many hours they played video games - and not allow Max to play outside. He didn’t want the boy in a second cast before the first one got taken off.

That may have been a mistake, he conceded after an unfamiliar number rang his phone a few weeks later.

“Doctor Pavus?”

“Doctor? Nobody calls me Doctor, who is this?”

“Umm.” Cullen could have punched himself, how was he this useless seriously? If Dorian didn’t have him fired it’d be a bloody miracle.

That voice hit Dorian like a ton of bricks.

“Cullen?” He hissed after a few too many seconds of silence on the other line. “You never called… Why are you calling  _now_? Did something happen? Something happened, didn’t it? What’s wrong?”

“Dorian… it’s, uh… well. nothing’s  _wrong_ , exactly. I mean, there was a fire. A small one. In your building. And Max was there.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh, the fire wasn’t in  _your_  apartment, he was upstairs with the elf. The one who was with him the day he fell. Sera? Apparently they were baking cookies? It didn’t go well.”

Of  _course_ , it was Sera. Of  _fucking_  course.

“Is he… is  _everyone_ … alright?”

Cullen blinked. “Everyone? Oh.  _Oh_! Oh yes, they’re all fine. Max is fine. And Sera. And there was another Qunari, not Bull. Think Sera called her Tally? Honestly she had the fire mostly out by the time we got there on her own. She is a, uh, a formidable woman... almost a little scary. It doesn’t look like there was anyone else involved and the damage is minimal and… well, I’m sorry for using your number but I thought you would want to know and...”

“Cullen,” Dorian interjected, cutting through the man’s nervous rambling.

“Cullen, I think I’d very much like to force that coffee on you now.”

 **** _Oh_.

Cullen’s head spun as he struggled to keep his phone pressed to his ear, as he struggled to stay upright. Coffee. With  _Dorian_. Dorian who was so ridiculously out of his league he flushed to think of the day he’d first met him.  _Dorian_. Who’d made the first move, his hastily-scrawled  yet still elegant handwriting proving it and Maker but he was an idiot? How had he not seen this?

 **** _Oh_.

This was the exact opposite of what he’d expected when he’d dialed Dorian’s number but in an instant it was all he wanted; all he  _needed_.

“I’d like that, but… there’s the little issue of the fire to deal with first.” Cullen managed, clearing his throat softly. “Can you leave work? I know it’s the middle of the day but… I think Max might like… it’s not my place to speak for him, forgive me.”

“Cullen,” Dorian laughed and Maker but he loved the man’s laugh. “There was a fire. In my  _building_. Involving  _my_  son. Even if I were a bloody secretary I imagine I could take the rest of the day off.”

Cullen couldn’t stifle the laughter bubbling inside of him. “Right you are then. I can stay with Max until you get here. We’ll see you… when?”

“Soon. I’ll leave right now.”

***

Dorian was as good as his word and he was sprinting through the courtyard before half an hour had passed. He ran right to Max, gathering him up in a hug interspersed with streams of rapidfire Tevene. From the phrases he could pick up it was clear that Dorian couldn’t decide whether he was more grateful that everyone was alright or furious, switching quickly from affection to scolding. Max though smiled as Dorian spoke, leaning into the man’s chest, his face tucked in Dorian’s shoulder.

Cullen stood back against a tree as he watched them, nearly tripping over the overgrown root until he came to rest gracefully on the trunk. This wasn’t something he should interfere in but watching Dorian with the boy made his heart swell. Mia has used to try to comfort him that way. He remembered when he’d fallen out of the elm tree in their front yard as a boy almost the same age. He’d broken a rib, bloodied his face and been left covered in bruises that seemed to take the rest of summer to fade. He’d tried so hard not to cry until he stumbled into the house and stumbled against the doorframe; she’d drawn him into her arms, chastising him for his foolishness with every other sentence even as she’d soothed him.

“So, I suppose I have  _you_  to thank for coming to Max’s rescue once again. You must think me appallingly negligent,” Dorian’s interjection jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Hardly,” Cullen replied with a grin. “This time he was an innocent onlooker and really, no one was in danger except the wall but…”

“But?”

“But perhaps it might be a good idea for me to speak with his guardian, to find out why he’s always being watched by an elf so intent on injuring him. I am a mandated reporter, you know.”

To Cullen’s growing delight Dorian just laughed until he was breathless and clinging to Cullen’s arm to stay upright.

“Because his father’s a damned fool, apparently,” Dorian replied once he mastered himself. “Now, about that coffee?”

Cullen checked his watch. “It’s the end of my shift actually, Rylen can drive the van back. So, ummmm yes. Coffee. Coffee would be nice. Let me just run and get my things, change into something a bit less conspicuous.”

“Excellent!” Dorian called after him, Cullen jogging back towards the ambulance, as he knelt down to fuss at Max’s clothing, brushing off bits of scattered dirt.

When Cullen returned he’d shed his uniform, instead casually attired in a pair of tailored black pants which Dorian appreciatively thought were illegally tight, a light blue collared shirt with the sleeves pushed up above his forearms, a pair of soft black leather combat boots with a cream sweater tied loosely around his waist

Dorian smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Well, Maker knows I love a man in uniform but I must admit you do clean up rather nicely.”

Cullen blushed and looked away, a hand rubbing softly at the back of his neck. “So, ummm. Coffee? Where did you want to go? I’m not really familiar with this neighborhood.”

“There’s a place just two blocks away, let me call Bull and see if he can watch Max.”

“Why not just bring him along?” Cullen asked. “He’s had a rough day, he’ll probably want to be with his dad.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian questioned, looking relieved.

Cullen nodded, shrugging lightly. “I figure if we’re going to keep meeting like this I should probably get to know both of you. Max, you want a ride?”

No sooner had Max nodded before Cullen swept him up onto his shoulders, smiling at the boy’s delighted laughter. He looked back at Dorian who was watching them with soft eyes.

“Lead the way.”

 

**VIII.**

The coffee shop was brightly-lit with exposed brick walls covered in canvas photographs with one wall reserved for floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which Max immediately ran to, returning with an armful of books. The tables were painted bright green and clashed fabulously with the barista’s pink and purple hair and mismatched tea cups turned into hanging lights hung from the ceiling at irregular intervals.

Cullen ordered a latte with extra vanilla syrup, the sweetest thing he could think of to cut the taste of the coffee itself while Dorian ordered a hot chocolate for Max and two shots of espresso for himself. Somehow he managed to keep from shooting Dorian a horrified glare.

What should have been one cup of coffee turned into three. He didn’t even  _like_  coffee but as Cullen sat across the table from Dorian sipping his drink he thought he could stay there, drinking that awful, bitter liquid forever as he listened to Dorian talk with Max sitting silently next to him, drawing as he clearly hung on every word. 

“How long have you been an EMT, Cullen?”

“Oh, about two years now,” Cullen replied blandly as he took a sip of his latte, hoping the lack of detail would steer Dorian in another direction.

“Just that long? Goodness, I would have assumed much longer. What did you do before that?”

 **** _Shit_. No such luck would be his tonight, apparently.

“I was in the Navy. Joined as soon as I turned 18. I was discharged two years ago. With honors, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Were you?” Dorian replied with a grimace. “I’ve never been much of a fan of boats myself, the last time I went on even a river cruise I was sick all night. Revolting habit I know, but there you are. Nasty things, boats are.”

Cullen snorted as he rolled his eyes. “I’m with you on that actually, I never liked sailing. Always made me seasick as well. In retrospect, the Navy might have been a bad idea but… I, ah, actually spent most of my time on land.”

 ****_Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask. Please. Please._

Someone heard his prayers, whether it was the Maker or Dorian he couldn’t be sure but Dorian didn’t press further. He cleared his throat to break the awkward silence hanging between them.

“So. Umm. You don’t look like a librarian.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to laugh; a rich, throaty sound almost akin to a purr that Cullen thought he could listen to for the rest of his life.

“By which you mean I’m not the ancient woman in frumpy clothes who terrified you in primary school?”

Cullen flushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Something like that,” he muttered.  _God. Really, Rutherford. Doesn’t look like a librarian? Why do you bother getting up in the morning?_

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

“I…. uh. I play chess.” Cullen shut his eyes, this  _never_  went well.

“Chess?” Dorian teased and as Cullen chanced a look over at him he grinned.

“Actually, when I was in college I used to be ranked,” Cullen revealed and for the first time that evening Dorian looked impressed.

“I admit, I rather took you as more the ‘spends his weekends bench pressing damsels in distress sort’.”

“Hardly,” Cullen replied with a smirk. “I mean, I  _do_  lift but it’s for… well, it’s for rehab, not a hobby. No damsels in distress here.”

Dorian smiled softly at him, that same, hesitant smile that had first left him wanting. “I must say, I’m glad to hear that.”

Cullen opened to his mouth to reply when his watch beeped, saving him from further humiliation.  _8:30_. How had he spent three hours over coffee of all things? Now he’d be late to feed and walk Gracie, late to take his medication, late to start the long, slow, painful process of falling asleep and  _fuck_  but tomorrow was going to hurt.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”

“Actually I… have to go. I’m late. There are things I need to do… Like. Well, feeding my dog.”  _And taking the pills that keep me halfway sane_  he thought resentfully. He would have much rather stayed, hung on Dorian’s every word, suggested dinner but no. Those things, those remarkably pedestrian, simple things could never be his.

Max looked up from his sketchpad, glaring up at Cullen accusingly. “You have a dog? Why didn’t you say? I love dogs! I want to meet him! What’s his name? Can I meet him, papa? Please?”

Dorian chuckled as he looked up at Cullen, a question in his eyes. “Not tonight, Max. We need to let Cullen get home, we’ve taken up enough of his time. But maybe another day?”

Cullen nodded, relieved as he stood and shrugged his jacket back over his shoulders. “It’s a her, actually. Her name is Gracie and yes, you can meet her. Soon. I promise.”

“Ah,” Dorian interjected as he grabbed Cullen’s wrist lightly, pressing his phone into the man’s hands. “Before you go, do give me your number. I’d rather not have to wait for another disaster to strike before I hear from you.

Dorian and Max turned to leave before Max slipped his hand out of Dorian's and ran back to Cullen's side. He tore a sheet out of his sketchpad and put it on the table in front of Cullen. "Bye," he whispered with a small wave before following Dorian out the door. 

Cullen picked up the sketch, studying it. It was remarkably good, a picture of him sitting on the floor laughing, a large dog's paws (one who looked remarkably like Gracie) on his shoulders. Behind them stood Dorian, staring down at them with smiling eyes. 

**IX.**

Dorian didn’t have to wait long, when he woke up he had a series of texts from Cullen. They chatted off and on throughout the next few weeks, meeting for the occasional coffee after work and walks in the park with Gracie and Max. Max adored the mabari and the feeling was clearly mutual, Dorian thought disgustedly, as evidenced by the copious amounts of drool.

He’d never been a big fan of dogs although this one at least seemed intelligent and clearly devoted to her owner. No matter how Max tried to distract her with thrown sticks and ear rubs she’d return to Cullen’s side regularly. The dog would lean up against his legs, butting her head against his hands and whining until he patted and released her with the same, soft command every time. It’s okay. It was odd, Dorian thought, the way she behaved, almost as if she were a caregiver and the man her charge instead of the other way around. She was protective of him in a way he’d never seen a dog act. It was almost as though she were checking on Cullen and waiting for his answer before running back off to play.

One rainy evening, on the one month anniversary of what Cullen liked to think of as ‘the fire that brought them together’, found them tucked in a corner booth at a cozy little Nevarran restaurant, laughing over a bottle of wine.

“So you’re from Tevinter? Minrathous? I spent a few days in Minrathous after I left Seheron, I didn’t get to see much as I was… on base waiting for my discharge orders. But it looked like a remarkable city.”

“My family’s actually from Qarinus, that’s where I grew up. I did my undergraduate studies in MInrathous though and it absolutely is a fascinating city,” Dorian replied wistfully as he took another sip of wine and closed his eyes. “It’s so very old, full of history and culture. Just walking down the back alleys of Minrathous you can sense that you’re surrounded by centuries of stories. There’s really nothing like it.”

“You must miss it. What brought you down south?”

“Graduate school,” Dorian replied with a smile. “Val Royeaux had the best doctoral program so here I am. I had offers at the best of the Circle Libraries back home but there’s really nothing like the library here. The prestige factor alone… well, never mind that. But yes, I do miss it dreadfully.”

“Do you ever go back? You must miss your family.”

“Hardly,” Dorian replied dryly, frowning. “We don’t exactly... see eye to eye.”

“Ah. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” Cullen reached across the table to rest a hand lightly on Dorian’s wrist.

“No, no. It’s… quite alright. You couldn’t have known. Family’s a normal thing to ask about, isn’t it? It’s normal, it’s nice. Or at least, it should be.” Dorian blew out a sigh and closed his eyes.

“It can be. I mean, my family is although both of my parents are dead so it’s just me and my siblings. Although Mia’s a lot like everyone’s mother now which isn’t always so nice.” God. He was just rambling now, filling awkward silences with unnecessary words. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re just quite… conservative. My father especially. He disagrees with some of my life choices and well, it’s probably for the best for me to stay far away from him. He’s very used to getting his way about everything and I’ve always been the one to fight with him about that, especially when it comes to my life,” Dorian said bitterly, raising a hand to absentmindedly fiddle at his collar.

“Life choices?” Cullen asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Dorian’s lips quirked into a smile. “Life choices. Like this one.” He leaned across the table and brushed a soft kiss across Cullen’s lips and for a moment he was rendered completely paralyzed. Dorian was kissing him and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move; the noise from the restaurant silenced until all he could hear was the stuttering of his heart and then Dorian’s soft whisper. “Is this alright?”

He nodded and Dorian wound his fingers softly through his hair, pulling him so close their foreheads touched. Cullen kissed him slowly at first, reveling in the feel of warm, soft lips against his own for the first time in two long years. Deeper now and he kissed Dorian as though he was drowning and each kiss could pull him back to shore, out from the grasp of the undertow.

Dorian tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg, of the spices of the curried dishes they’d shared but he couldn’t name, of rich, red wine and some intangible sweetness. Something he couldn’t quite place that was foreign but somehow so familiar and Cullen couldn’t help but whine at the loss of the touch as Dorian pulled ever so slightly away, gazing searchingly at him as though waiting for an answer to an unasked question.

“I, uh. I like that life choice,” Cullen said softly.

Dorian chuckled softly, a rich velvety sound and Maker but he would give anything to be able to listen to that sound for the rest of his life.

“Mmmm, I’m glad.”

**X.**

Sera stumbled into the living room, flopping down on the couch between Bull and Tally and she handed over a fresh round of beer.

“Kid’s finally asleep, yeah Buckles?” She stage-whispered into Tally’s chest, pink-cheeked from alcohol, laughter spilling over as the Qunari teasingly pressed her face further into her cleavage.

“Yes! And if you had any sense at all and wanted him to stay that way you would be quiet,” Tally whispered back, scratching at the base of her horns between taking a long pull of beer.

“Oi, Tally? Bull?”

Bull hummed questioningly.

“What d'you think of Dorian’s new man? Kinda really boring, innit?” Sera frowned, studying her beer.

“Thought he’d go for someone really interesting. Like… a spy or summat!” Her eyes lit up as she propped her feet up on the coffee table, precariously perched on the edge of the couch as she swayed. “Cully’s so straight-laced, probably been a goody two shoes his whole life. Bet he’s never had fun in his whole stupid, boring life.”

“That’s not nice!” Tally said with a glare, contradicted by the gentle way she pulled at Sera’s hips, pulling the elf back onto the couch and tucking her into her chest. “He seems nice enough, Dorian seems to like him anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bull whispered, staring off towards the television, deep in thought. “Besides, I don’t think he’s really all that straight-laced. Looks that way to an outsider but I think it’s more of a defense mechanism. You can tell he’s ex-military from the way he carries himself but he’s young, too young to have served out his whole tour. Something happened and it was bad, whatever it was… it was seriously fucked up. If it weren’t he’d have talked about it by now. He’s got a family somewhere, those names on his arm aren’t lovers. Wrong script; probably siblings, maybe parents. But they’re far away, he’s got the air of a man who doesn’t have much beyond work. Probably throws himself into it to forget.”

Sera cackled and Tally shushed her, pressing a soft kiss into her tangled hair. “Oooooh, Bull’s doing his special ‘I’m a Qunari, I know things about people and stuff and junk’ thing again.”

“You want to do the honors this time?” Tally asked, her hand lightly poised just above the back of Sera’s head. “Get her to shut up?”

“Nah, too easy,” Bull rumbled softly. “Besides, look. She’s just about to fall asleep.”

As if to punctuate his last point Sera flopped into Tally’s lap, rolling onto her back, her head dangling off the couch between Tally’s legs, with a loud snore.

***

“I’m sorry…” Cullen whispered, breaking away to catch his breath, the sharp bite of Dorian’s teeth on his lips still throbbing. “Is this alright? Maybe we shouldn’t?”

“Don’t you dare stop,” Dorian warned, crashing his lips back against Cullen’s, his hands grabbing at the blonde’s hipbones. Dorian’s lips teased at his own, his tongue softly pushing deeper with each slow kiss; leaving him dizzy, breath-starved, drunk with pleasure and the taste of him.

Cullen tried but mostly fail to stifle a laugh as Dorian’s mustache tickled, muffling the sound and waiting moan into Dorian’s skin as he nuzzled his neck, bit lightly at it until the soft skin purpled under his touch.

Dorian moved a hand to his ass and Cullen made a noise more pleasure than shock, one he’d surely deny in his more lucid moments. He leaned into the touch, lips flush against Dorian’s, stifling a groan as the tip of a tongue flicks against his teeth. Dorian nipped and sucked at his throat and he’s hard now; the slow, unceasing rhythm of Dorian’s hands running down his back and up through his hair driving him mad.

A slow roll of his hips and he was undone, whimpering and begging as Dorian continued to explore him. The touch of a hand between his thighs, another tracing the scars lining his back, lips teasing at the broad expanse of his chest and teeth grazing at his nipples; his stomach tensed, toes beginning to curl with need.

“Please…” he growled into the nape of Dorian’s neck. “Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Dorian murmured, guiding him back. “Bed. Now.”

“I like that plan,” Cullen said as Dorian pushed him down onto the mattress, Dorian tumbling on top of him.

Dorian laughed as he righted himself, worked his way down Cullen’s neck, his tongue swirling at soft skin. Cullen lifted his hips with a slight roll, letting out a soft moan as Dorian worked at the button of his jeans, easing them down off his hips and onto the ground. He shivered as Dorian traced a finger lightly up one thigh and then down the other.

“I… uh…” Cullen whispered, flushed from his head to his toes. “I might not last…ah! It’s been longer... than I’d like to admit. My last… Sam… it’s been a few years, I’m… sorry.”

“Mmmmm,” Dorian murmured as he nipped at Cullen’s neck, at the soft swell where collarbone met finely muscled shoulder. “I can’t say I’m exactly in practice myself. I think we’ll manage.”

Dorian scattered a line of soft kisses down his chest, pausing at the clusters of freckles on his shoulders, lingering over the scar traversing diagonally across his stomach. Softly first, just a light brushing of lips against skin than coming to nip at the swell of his hips, at the hollow divot where hip met abdomen.

“Dorian…” he breathed. He bit at his lower lip, stifling a whimper as Dorian takes his length into his mouth. Arching his back Cullen thrust towards him but Dorian’s hands on his hips kept him grounded, flush against the bed.

“Ah, ah… not yet,” Dorian whispered with a laugh that sent a shock of pleasure through him. A few more licks up his shaft; he’s fully hard now, desperate and he whines as Dorian pulls away, still laughing softly.

Cullen bit at his lip, swallowing back a whimper as Dorian straddled him, positioning his own erection next to the man’s. They fell into steady rhythm, his mouth at the base of Dorian’s throat, teeth grazing against salty skin. Dorian kept up the slow, steady roll of his hips against him as he teased, promising release but bringing him to the edge over and over then always slowing to return again and again and again until he could scream. Cullen thrusted against him, the friction between them threatening to push him over the edge.

“Ah! Please… Dorian, I need… I can’t...” he warned with a gasp as Dorian ran his hands down the length of his body, coming to rest at the small of his back and kneading at his ass as he thrusted faster. The heat inside built, each thrust pulsing through him like a storm until he came with a ferocity that staggered him, muffling his cries of Dorian’s name against his chest. He kept thrusting, slowly at first then quicker until Dorian joins him in relief, whimpering softly before burying his face in Cullen’s neck.

“Was that…” Cullen whispered as Dorian sighed contentedly into his chest. “Was that alright?”

“Alright…” Dorian mumbled before turning to find a cloth on the bedside table, pausing to clean up after both of them. “Was that alright, he asks?  _Alright_? And me lying here, boneless.”

Cullen laughed as a flood of warmth lazily pooled in the pit of his stomach. “I’m glad.”

He yawned, stretching as he stood.  

“I should get going,” he said. “Gracie will need feeding and you’ll want to go get Max, yeah?”

He missed Dorian’s frown, the wet sheen that sprang to his eyes as the man rolled over into bed.

“Yeah…”

 

**XI.**

Cullen’s watch beeped and he looked up from where he was sitting, curled into the arm of the couch with Dorian tucked into his chest. Dorian had a book in one hand and the other was scribbling notes on a small notepad balanced precariously on his thigh. Cullen sighed as he turned down the corner of the page of his book to mark his place and closed it, setting it on the side table.

“Leaving so soon, Amatus? Max should be asleep by now, you could stay a bit longer,” Dorian asked. Instead of moving aside to let him up Dorian turned towards him, resting his head against Cullen’s chest.

“You know that’s my cue, love,” Cullen replied, brushing his lips softly against Dorian’s forehead. He let his fingers tangle lightly through Dorian’s hair, combing back unruly waves and smiled as Dorian sighed happily.

“I know. I just…” Dorian hesitated for a moment and shook his head, shoulders tensed. “Well, I suppose you had better get going then. It’s getting late.”

“Dori, what is it?” Cullen frowned, running a thumb softly against Dorian’s lips before leaning in to steal another soft kiss.

Dorian bit his lip and looked away, staring off towards the balcony windows. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something and I’d much rather you told me what it was,” Cullen said, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s waist, waiting for the man to relax against him. He didn’t.  

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just… you never stay. I’d like you to and I haven’t exactly been subtle about that. But you never do and I just... I don’t understand  _why_? Is it something I did? Something I failed to do? Do you not… truly want this? Us, I mean.” Dorian turned towards him, face set in a frown; his normally quick, bright eyes worried and sad.

If Cullen was honest he’d known this moment would arrive, in fact he was only surprised that it hadn’t come up sooner. For months now Dorian had quietly accepted the way he’d slip quietly out of the apartment rather than fall asleep there. He’d clearly been unhappy with the arrangement; that was easy enough to read in the soft furrows that gathered across his brow, the way his shoulders raised and tensed as though expecting a blow, the frustrated set to his jaw and the numerous times he opened his mouth to protest before Cullen took advantage and silenced him with a kiss. He’d never argued though and he’d never asked, until tonight.

How could he tell Dorian? How could he tell anyone what haunted him? He hadn’t even told Sam and that was another small guilt that clawed away at his insides even now, years later.

 ****_I can’t stay because at night, when everything’s silent and still, I can’t distract myself any longer and everything goes to shit. I can’t stay because every part of me that used to be brave and strong died two years ago in Seheron and now I spend my life flinching from shadows and running, always running away. I can’t stay because here, without Gracie to tether me, I’m terrified to lose my connection to reality. I can’t stay because every night the dreams return and there’s nothing left but the screaming, the taste of stale blood in my mouth and the smell of hot metal and charred flesh and the sight of corpses - men I once knew and called brother - piled high in shallow graves._

_I can’t stay because if you see this part of me, the darkness clawing its’ way out, you’ll leave and I couldn’t bear it._

How could he not tell Dorian? If he truly loved him could he, in good conscience, keep this from him? Could he forever shut Dorian out from the experiences that had lead to the death of everything he’d ever known or been and his subsequent rebirth?

Cullen opened his eyes and looked at Dorian, soft-eyed. He let his hand trail softly down Dorian’s cheek, hand moving to cup his jaw lightly.

“Cullen, I…”

“Shhh. You’re right, my heart. I knew that you wanted me to stay. And believe me, it’s not that I haven’t wanted to. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. It’s just…”

Now was his chance. He could tell Dorian everything, let him make his own choice. Dorian would leave, of course he would. Everyone left. Cullen should be used to it by now. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did anymore. He fingered the few pills tucked in the pocket of his jeans; they might be enough. Maybe he could get through tonight to pacify Dorian then tell him everything but in his own time.

He leaned over to softly kiss the tip of Dorian’s nose, laughing as the man scowled.

“I’ll stay.”

**XII.**

Dorian woke up shivering to find Cullen’s side of the bed empty, the blanket wadded up and pushed to the ground at the foot of the bed.

Gone, slipped quietly away into the night just like everyone always left. He sat up against the headboard, pulling his knees into his chest. He should have known this would happen. He should have been used to it, he’d never had a partner willing to spend the night. But that had been in Tevinter and things were supposed to be better here, easier. He had asked Cullen to stay, he’d  _promised_  and then he hadn’t. Cullen had seemed so much different than the others, but apparently not. Nothing was ever easy for him, Dorian thought bitterly. He should have known better than to hope for more.

A glass of wine would set this right he thought but as he opened the door to his bedroom he heard a strangled sob and suddenly the bottle of Aggregio Pavali waiting for him on the counter seemed much less enticing.

“Cullen?” He hissed, blinking quickly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

The only answer was a soft, clipped moan that seemed to stick in the back of his throat.

“Cullen... what’s wrong? What happened?“ Dorian crossed the room swiftly to sit on the edge of the couch next to him, raising a hand to rub his back. They both flinched at the touch; Dorian lightly at the beads of cold sweat that had soaked through his tank top but Cullen away from him, violently, as though he’d been hit.

“No…” Cullen whimpered, dropping his head onto his knees. “S’not me… wasn’t me… not…”

“Cullen, shhhhh. It’s okay, I promise. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” Dorian soothed as he broke into a soft stream of Tevene. He curled up against the arm of the couch before tugging at Cullen’s shoulders until he relaxed just enough to allow Dorian to guide him back against his chest.

“What’s wrong? What can I do?” Gently, Dorian wrapped his arms around Cullen who twitched beneath him, resting his hands across the man’s hips.

“I can’t… please don’t make me. Please.” Cullen gasped, struggling against his touch, trying to pull away. “What do you  _want_  of me? Just… let me go. Let me go…  _please_. Or kill me. Just… make this stop.”

Dorian let go, frightened - what choice did he have?  - and Cullen sprang back upright, breath stuttering high and fast in his throat, chest heaving and eyes wild, gaze flickering across the room unfocused until finally, his trembling slowed and he looked around, blinking slowly in confusion.

“Cullen, it’s me. It’s okay. It’s Dorian. Just Dorian,” he murmured softly.

“Dorian?” Cullen asked, hesitant and disbelieving, eyes still casting about the room as though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was.

Dorian made a small noise of agreement as he chanced to move closer, laying a hand softly on Cullen’s bare knee. “Just me.”

“Just Dorian,” Cullen repeated hoarsely, finally relaxing against the back of the couch.

“Back with me?” Dorian asked more casually than he felt as Cullen turned towards him.

“What… happened?” Cullen asked wide-eyed, voice quavering as a single, solitary tear running down his cheek betrayed him. “Oh fuck… what did you see, Dorian?”

“Enough,” he replied softly, inching closer to Cullen. He closed the man’s hands between his own, trailing his fingers softly over the backs of his palms.

“I’m sorry... I’m  _so_  sorry, Dorian. I should… I need to go, you shouldn’t have seen that and...” Cullen protested as he made to stand up, unsteady hands trembling as they pressed against the couch cushion.

In an instant Dorian had stepped in front of him, hands gently but firmly on his shoulders, keeping him from leaving.

“You are going to do nothing of the sort,” Dorian insisted. “You are going to stay right here and relax while I get you some water and then… well, never mind. Just stay there, alright? If I come back and you’ve left I’m going to be very cross.”

Cullen leaned into his chest, resting his cheek again warm, soft skin. He knew that Dorian would be able to feel the damp lines of tears that had tracked down his face but suddenly he didn’t mind it. He wanted Dorian to feel it, to not be alone with it all for the first time since Sam had left.

“Alright… I’m sorry,” Cullen mumbled, nodding softly. “I’ll stay. I promise”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Dorian breathed against his rumpled, sweat-damp curls. “It’s going to be alright, I promise. Whatever this is, we can make it better.”  

 

***

When he returned Cullen was exactly where he’d left him, hunched over, head in his hands. He looked up at the soft touch of Dorian’s fingers stroking slowly but purposefully up his right arm, tracing the dark lines circling his bicep and Dorian pressed the glass into his hand.

He drank and for a few moments Dorian didn’t speak other than to murmur soothing words in Tevene into his hair, his hands continuing their soft, slow touches until he calmed. His Tevene was just good enough to know the words were nothing but nonsensical reassurances but their rhythm was so soothing Cullen wondered for a moment if they were an incantation. For now Dorian seemed content only to sit next to him and keep the slow, steady trace of fingers across his skin and he was grateful.

It didn’t last.

“Tell me about Seheron,” Dorian said as he unfolded the blanket that hung over the back of the couch and pulled it over them. “If you like.”

Cullen sighed. This was very much not how he’d wanted this to come out but… if Dorian was going to stay and  _Maker_  did he want Dorian to stay then apparently this would have to be done on the mage’s terms and not his own.

“Alright…” He stripped off Dorian’s borrowed tank top and turned his back to Dorian, then gestured at his skin. “You’ve never asked what these ones meant.”

Dorian shook his head, confused. He’d wondered of course, it was difficult not to but unlike Cullen’s other tattoos the ones on his torso seemed personal, more intimate, something the man might share in his own time but not something for him to intrude on. Spread across Cullen’s back was a tombstone with the claws of a savage beast dug deep into the base and its savage snarl inked above. Deep gouges were scattered across his back and Dorian thought them part of the design until he reached out a hand and found nothing but gnarled scar tissue. Beneath it all a date - 5-15-13 - written in an elegant, scripted hand.

“May 15th, 2013. That’s the day I died. And my squad… we all had nicknames. And mine was Lionheart. Stupid, really but… anyway. That was the day I… the Lionheart died.”

Dorian winced at that. “You’re not…”

“It’s symbolic, you don’t have to tell me I’m not really dead but… anyway. Seheron. I told you I was in the Navy. I was a SEAL. My unit and I… we were deployed to Seheron, just eight of us. Secret orders, had to take out a rebel force but… everything fucked up.” Cullen let out a long, shuddering breath.

“We were captured by the rebels. The fog warriors. Came out of fucking nowhere, dragged us off to their safehouse, tossed us all in separate cells. And… I guess they decided I was in charge? That I could give them what they wanted? Because for the first few weeks they kept us separate and they mostly left me alone, shoved in a cell. It was dark, I was alone but they mostly stayed away other than to shove food and water through the door. But the screaming… fuck. I could hear them, my squadmates. I knew their voices, every one of them. And they were… I mean, these guys were hard as fucking nails, right? Special ops, you’ve got to be. So hard as fucking nails and they never stopped screaming, day and night. I still don’t know what happened to them, no one would tell me. And I couldn’t sleep, weeks it was and even once I could again it was nothing but the fucking screaming so… I didn’t.”

Cullen swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “They killed Nate first. When they dragged his body in front of me I… I could hardly recognize him. They’d… they’d beaten him, he’d been beaten so bad his face… it was just a swollen, bloodied mess. I couldn’t have sworn it was him except for his tags. And every few days after that it was another. Aidan and Rory were next. Then Malcolm. Stephen and Reece. And finally, Brendan.”

Cullen laughed bitterly. “Fucking Brendan, he was just a kid. They actually let me out for that one. Brought me out of my cell while he was still alive. Not for long of course, they finished him off pretty quickly. I was still bound, I couldn’t… well, I tried. Ever wonder why that one line on my arm is so thick compared to the others? It’s covering the rope burn… I tried to escape, I swear I tried… but I couldn’t…”

He broke off in a sob, head falling back onto his knees, arms shielding his head as though he expected a blow.

He sniffed fiercely, trying to master himself. “Finally I managed to escape, get far away enough to send up a flare. I was rescued, just barely. But the rest of them… all dead. They brought me to Minrathous, to the hospital there. Physically there wasn’t much to heal but… everything else.  _Fuck_ …”

Cullen raised a hand to his chest, trailing his fingers across his collarbone. “And this? It’s a phoenix. I read this thing once:  _How can you rise if you have not burned_? And it kind of stuck with me I guess, once I was sent down to Val Royeaux. I didn’t know anyone here, all my family’s back in Fereldan and for almost the whole first year I really didn’t have anything? Didn’t have a job yet, if I wasn’t at the naval hospital it was just me, alone in my dark, empty apartment. Soon after that I found my job and then I got Gracie and she helps but… I decided I needed something hopeful, a chance that out of the ashes I could be reborn. Become something better than I was, use all of this shit to get stronger so I got the phoenix.”

“Hope reborn out of pain, a new beginning; something better than what you were. But you don’t need to be better, Cullen. You  _are_  better because you survived. Not just survived but thrived. You may have been reborn but who you were wasn’t destroyed, just made better.” Dorian’s kisses were soft, feather-light and he peppered them across Cullen’s mouth, his cheeks, his neck, hands grasping at Cullen’s hips, pulling him closer.

“You should have told me sooner,” Dorian said as he rubbed slow circles across his upper back with one hand, the other running softly through his hair. He tugged at Cullen’s shoulders, guiding him up and closer until their foreheads touched just a little too hard and Cullen mumbled ouch.

“I’m sorry…” Cullen whispered, sniffling as he wiped at his eyes.

Dorian sighed but laughed all the same, eyes quick-bright as he smiled softly. “You say that so often, Amatus. Whoever made you think that you had to apologize enough for the entire world?”

“Amatus still… then? You don’t…?”

Dorian nuzzled his neck, laughing again as Cullen squirmed away, ticklish from his mustache. “When I said you should have told me I meant because I might have helped, not because I was angry you didn’t say anything. You needn’t have shouldered this burden on your own. If you thought this would make me give up on you then you have a lot to learn about me, hmmm? Max has officially set my apartment on fire six times now and he’s still here and calling me papa now. That should tell you something about me, I think.”

Cullen found himself grinning despite himself. He still… Dorian still wanted him. Dorian didn’t mind. Didn’t hate him for everything he wasn’t, everything he couldn’t be. He wasn’t like Sam, looking for the first, easy excuse to leave and find someone simpler.

“You’re my miracle,” Cullen whispered shyly, blushing even as the words left his mouth.

Dorian chuckled as he nosed at Cullen’s cheek. “That might be a bit much, Amatus. But I am here and I’m not going anywhere, for whatever that is worth.”

“I love you, Dori, “ he confessed, tucking his head into the curve of Dorian’s shoulder. “And it’s worth everything.”

“And... I love you too, Amatus. Will you come back to bed? Please?”

“Soon, I promise. I just… need some air.”

**XIII.**

Out on Dorian’s balcony Cullen watched the light of Val Royeaux flickering in the distance. It all seemed so far away, even though he knew they were twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour away from the city center at most. The night was clear, unobstructed by clouds or fog drifting lazily off the shore and the stars were just starting to flicker.

Ah, there was Judex.  _Justice_. The sword of mercy. The first he’d ever found and the first he’d ever wanted to forget. It had been turned into a symbol of death, the SEALs twisting it into a symbol of execution, marking their targets with that same symbol.

 **** _Better to forget_  he thought as a cold breeze teased out a shiver, wishing he’d brought his sweatshirt outside. His was still in Dorian’s room with Dorian hopefully back asleep by now. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him, not after what he’d already been put through tonight.

Ah, there was the soft swell of the head and the wings of Tenebrium. It had been the first constellation his father had ever taught him.  _Knowledge. Wisdom. Never stop learning, never stop searching for knowledge. Remember that, Cullen and all will be well. I promise._  Wisdom in his father’s same soft amber eyes staring back at him, always seeing everything he tried to hide. A promise made with the best of intentions but one that could never be kept. In those moments he was grateful his father had died while he was still deployed. This way he’d never have to see what had been done to him, the broken thing his eldest son had become.

He started at the soft touch of a hand on his own. He looked across the balcony and found nothing until he lowered his gaze.

 **** _Max_.

“Can’t sleep either, huh? Not tired? Bad dreams?” He asked casually, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Max shook his head although he blinked sleepily at Cullen through heavy lashes, disheveled red hair pulling loose from his ponytail.

“You’re sad. Something hurt you, I know it did. You and papa. Sometimes things hurt me too and you make them stop. I want to help.”

Cullen’s heart clenched in his chest and he breathed in slowly, smiling at Max to belie his fears. Max saw too much, understood too much. No child should have such an intimate understanding of pain, he thought. He certainly hadn’t as a boy.

“I’m okay, Max. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“You think he won’t love you. You think you’re too much. You aren’t. But I know, I thought the same thing. I always was before, for everyone else. I didn’t think he would love me either.”

Max shrugged, face knotted in confusion.

“But he does. I don’t know why, but I trust it. You should too.”

Max moved in closer to him, shivering and Cullen left for a moment, willing to risk waking Dorian to find his sweatshirt which he handed to Max. It was ridiculously oversized, the hem coming down nearly to Max’s knees and the sleeves having to be pushed well above his elbows to keep them from hanging over his hands entirely.

“Do you see that?” Cullen asked as he grabbed Max’s wrist softly, pointing his fingers towards an especially bright star.

Max shook his head. “Just the buildings across the street.”

“Well, then you’re not looking high enough up if you’re still seeing the buildings,” Cullen admonished gently. “If you tip your head all the way up you should see a really bright star. That’s the top of Solium, of the sun. Follow it around clockwise, from one to the next. If you think of what the sun looks like you’ll see the pattern.”

Max squinted then grinned. “I think I see it! What’s the one next to it?”

“ _Draconis_. It means ‘high dragon’. See how it looks a bit like one, the way the wings stretch out and there’s that long tail curling behind him?”

Max nodded, trying unsuccessfully to swallow back a yawn.

“Alright, that’s enough. Back to bed with both of us or you’ll be a wreck for school tomorrow and your papa will be incredibly cranky with me in the morning. Since he actually could set the both of us on fire it’s probably better to keep him happy, hmmm?”

Max giggled and Cullen smiled as he felt a small hand slip into his own. He leaned down to pick Max up, his head tucked into the crook of Cullen’s shoulder.

“You know, my dad taught me about them when I was about your age. The stars.  I had three siblings and shared a room with my little brother and… don’t get me wrong, I loved them but they were so loud. It was a little overwhelming. So I'd sneak out at night to get away from it all, just climb out my bedroom window and lie on the roof. I thought I was being so sneaky but my dad always knew somehow and he'd get the ladder out and climb up with me. Eventually he decided I needed something to do if I was going to sleep out there more often than not and found a book about the constellations. Taught himself all about them just so he could teach me."

He closed the balcony doors behind them, walking softly through the hallway to avoid waking Dorian again as he whispered to Max. “I still like them now, there’s something relaxing about watching them. There’s a… a certainty to the stars. No matter what happens they remain, there’s nothing we can do to change that. They were there before any of us and they’ll be there long after we die. That’s... comforting, I think.”

He set Max down on his bed and kneeled on the floor beside him, smiling as Max burrowed deep into his stack of blankets. "I could teach you about them, if you like."

"It'd be like you're my dad," Max mumbled sleepily through a yawn.

"It would," Cullen said softly, struck by how natural hearing that felt. A few months ago he had thought even finding a friend outside of Rylen impossible and now... not only did he have Dorian but Max as well.

 ****_His own perfect little family._

"Goodnight, Max. Get some sleep, okay?"

He was just about to shut the door when he heard Max whisper "goodnight, dad."

He was still smiling as he slipped into bed beside a fast asleep Dorian, careful not to jostle him awake. Dorian curled into his chest, snoring lightly and Cullen snuck an arm under his waist and the other across his chest, pulling him closer to press a kiss into the nape of his neck.

**XIV**.

“You ready kiddo?” Cullen asked as he knelt beside Max to smooth the wrinkles from his blazer. Dorian had bought it at least three sizes too large last year and it was still much too big even though Max had shot up nearly a foot over the winter, Cullen thought as he folded the sleeves up and over Max’s wrists.

Max shook his head, frowning. “Not really…”

“Well, after today you won’t ever have to see them again. Varric just called, he looked over the final pleadings last night and it doesn’t look like there will be any issues. He said there was no indication they were going to put up a fight over waiving their rights,” Dorian breezed in, resplendent in Balenciaga and Alexander McQueen, clucking unhappily as he looked despairingly over Max’s hair.

Max winced and Cullen raised an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in for a quick hug.

“I don’t think that’s helping, my heart,” Cullen scolded.”Whatever happens today they were his mum and dad once.”

“Mmmmm yes. And a bang-up job they did at that, wouldn’t you say?” Dorian shot back then sighed, annoyed. “Sorry love, suppose I’m not really looking forward to seeing them either. But it’ll be over soon enough.”

He turned back to Max. “Who fixed your hair? A hurricane? Or your dad?” Dorian asked and Max giggled, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth for the first time in weeks.

“Hey!” Cullen protested. “I did the best I could. You want it to look better, you fix his hair.”

Dorian sighed exasperatedly and sat behind Max as he untangled the elastic from his messy ponytail, fingers teasing through the tangled strands. As Cullen watched in disbelief Dorian deftly made two small braids on each side of Max’s head, gathering them and the rest of his hair up into a low ponytail, fingers teasing at the remaining ends until they smoothed.

“Don’t you dare say I told you so. That was magic, I know it when I see it,” Cullen teased as Max laughed again. “You and your papa both, you’re absolutely incorrigible.”

“Papa?” Max asked, all traces of laughter erased from his face as he gripped Cullen’s hand tight.

“What is it,  _carissime mi_?” Dorian asked, distracted as he continued to fuss at Max’s clothes, brushing away stray hairs and invisible specks of dust. “I do wish we had a full suit for you, it’d be so much more formal but I suppose this will just have to do.”

“What if they won’t say yes? To letting you and dad adopt me...” Max asked worriedly, looking expectantly from Cullen to Dorian and back again.

“They will, and more’s the pity for them,” Cullen said decisively as he straightened Max’s tie. “And if they won’t… I’ll talk to them, alright? We’ll find a way.”

“You promise?”

Cullen crossed his fingers and raised them in front of his chest. Max did the same and touched his fingers lightly against Cullen’s. “I promise, this is going to happen.”

***

Max was withdrawn during the drive downtown, answering Cullen’s questions in soft monosyllables. As they walked through the doors of the courthouse he shrank back, kneeling down just past the threshold to intently study his untied shoelaces.

“You doing okay, kiddo?” Cullen asked softly, wincing as his knees hit the cold marble floor. Dorian stood off to the side, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as though deciding whether or not to come closer. In the end he stayed where he was, leaving Cullen and Max alone as he pulled out his phone.

Max shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t want to see them… do I really have to?”

“Hey, listen to me okay?” Cullen cupped his jaw lightly, raising his head until Max’s worried, bright green eyes met his own. “You have to see them today but this is it, I promise. After today you have no ties to them anymore, they can’t hurt you. It’s just going to be us; you, me and papa for the rest of our lives. Our own little family.”

Max sniffed as he threw his arms around Cullen’s neck, burying his face in Cullen’s shoulder as he slowly relaxed into the hug.

“We’re going to be right there with you,” Cullen whispered, untangling Max’s fingers from his coat as Dorian came to his side, frowning as he squeezed Max’s shoulder. “But now we have to go inside, okay?”

Max nodded as he slipped his hand into Cullen’s, allowing himself to be led down the long hallway and into the courtroom where Josephine, the judge and their attorney, Varric Tethras, waited. Max ran immediately to Josephine who greeted him with a warm smile and a hug, soft words spoken into his hair about how much he’d grown and how pleased she was to see him looking so happy.

“Hey, good news,” Varric said, smiling as he crossed the courtroom towards them. “Parents already signed the paperwork without a fight, we get to skip the parental rights hearing. Should be smooth sailing from this point, just a few questions from the judge and then you’ll be all set. Probably won’t have any issues, you’ve had the kid for a while now although you two not being married… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Two elves stood in the corner, steadfastly refusing to meet any of their eyes. Cullen studied them, a sudden burst of anger pooling in the pit of his stomach. They had the same dark skin as Max and the woman had Max’s unruly red hair, the man his eyes and long, slender ears.

 ****_How could they have looked at their son and not wanted him? How could they - anyone - not want Max?_

He barely heard the rest of the hearing. Dorian handled all of the judge’s questions with aplomb, even the pointed ones regarding their living arrangements and lack of marital status but Cullen couldn’t stop watching Max’s birth parents who barely looked over in their direction. Every minute made him angrier, how could they be so disinterested in what was going on? How could they not care?

They signed the final set of papers and as they turned to leave Cullen lingered by the doorway.

“You… You didn’t even talk to him. All these years and nothing?” Cullen asked savagely as the elves approached the exit. “Everything he’s been through, being given up, having  _nothing_  and no one and you’re still not going to give him anything? Nothing? No apology? Or even an explanation? Don’t you think he deserves that?”

“Cullen,  _please_. Fasta vass, just leave it alone,” Dorian hissed, grabbing him by the elbow but Cullen broke away, blocking the exit.

“No. I want to know why. And how. How can you look at him and just… ignore him. How could you abandon him? How could you…  _anyone_  not love him?” Cullen demanded with a snarl, taking a step towards the elves.

“Dad… don’t. Please?” The soft touch of Max’s hand on his wrist brought him back to reality, anchored him. The rage pumping thick and fast in his veins subsided bit by bit as he breathed, dug his nails into the palms of his hands. “They’re not worth it… you said. We’re family now so they don’t matter. It’s just us now… remember? You, me and papa. Just us.”

“Just us,” Cullen repeated as he blinked back angry tears, smiling softly down at Max as he stepped aside from the door. Dorian moved in next to him, snaking an arm around his waist as he nosed at Cullen’s cheek. Max’s birth parents took advantage of the sudden distraction to slip silently out the door.

“You alright? Both of you?” Dorian asked gently, hand rubbing Cullen’s shoulder softly as he ran the other softly through Max’s hair.

They both nodded and Dorian smiled to realize how alike they were.  _Like father, like son_.  

“Let’s go home.”

**XV**.

“Max!” Dorian called out the window, watching as the boy raced around in the courtyard with Sera, Bull and Krem. As Stitches, Dalish, Tally and Rocky cheered from the sidelines Bull tackled him, rolling onto his back and holding Max high above him as the boy shrieked with delight. “Time to come inside.”

Max pulled a face but squirmed free of Bull’s grip, tossing a quick goodbye over his shoulder as he ran upstairs. Dorian could hear his footsteps coming closer, growing louder as he ascended the stairs and ran through the hallway. The front door clicked open and then the noise halted suddenly as Max stopped short.

Dorian dried his hands and walked into the living room, smiling as he saw Max staring, wide-eyed, at the cake sitting on the coffee table. Cullen was curled up on the couch, a book in his hands, but his attention was completely focused on Max rather than on the pages.

“It’s not my nameday…”

“No, it isn’t but don’t you remember what today is?” Dorian asked and Max shook his head, confused.

“It’s been a year,” Cullen said as he closed his book and stood up, coming to stand next to Max. He winked quickly at him as Max looked up, raised a finger in front of lips. Max's eyes widened and he grinned involuntarily before blanking his expression. “A year since we became a family.”

Dorian nodded. “That’s it and… well, I thought that deserved a bit of a celebration.”

“We might have a bit more to celebrate before the night is over,” Cullen replied as he came to stand in front of Dorian. 

“Amatus, what…”

“Shhhh. Just let me speak alright?” He fidgeted, fingers playing nervously at the back pocket of his jeans. “Dorian Pavus, it’s been a year since we promised to be the best family we could be to Max.”

Trembling fingers pulled out a small box, he held it so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Tonight, we have a chance to make the same promise to each other.”

“Cullen, what on earth?” Dorian’s voice broke and he cleared his throat, trying again.

“Dorian…” Cullen closed his eyes and breathed in a shaky breath and huffed it back out again. “Dorian. Will you marry me? Be my family? Be  _our_  family?”

It was silent a few long moments and Cullen kept his eyes shut tight, not daring to crack one open to gauge Dorian’s reaction.

Then there was nothing but a light hand on the back of his neck and lips on his skin, kissing him softly at first - peppering them across his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, his neck - then deeper, tongues tangling and teeth grazing across his lips, leaving them bitten and kiss-swollen in the mage’s wake. Dorian kept kissing him until he was breathless, torn between pulling away to recover and wanting to drown in the mage’s embrace.

“You ridiculous man,” Dorian whispered, leaning towards him until their foreheads touched. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Cullen smiled, searching Dorian’s eyes for any answer. “Then?”

“Then yes.  _Yes_. A thousand times yes,” Dorian replied, stealing another kiss. “For you. For Max. Forever.”

 


End file.
